


Paper Clips + Christmas

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [7]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Bozer is yet again mentioned but not in it, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, James MacGyver Bashing (MacGyver TV 2016), Mystery, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Pre-Season/Series 01, Sandbox fic, Someone needs to give mac a hug ASAP, Suspense, and that someone needs to be jack, because this is a, less drama but more feels, there's a lot of feels in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: It's the first Christmas with Mac and Jack's new partnership. Despite the season, nothing ever seems to go smoothly when it comes to Mac.
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	Paper Clips + Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's only been a day since I've last talked to you all lol. I've just been really really inspired to write SS, and I'm not exactly sure why if I'm being completely honest. ...i should probably be working on embers...
> 
> Anyhow, for those of you who have been waiting and waiting for more protective Jack, I hope that you'll like this one! And Mac's finally opening up! Yay! A Christmas Miracle!
> 
> Also trigger warning to referenced child abuse in the past. As always, nothing is explicit, but your health always comes first! Take care of yourself first and foremost!
> 
> Enjoy! :D

There’s a bit of an unspoken rule in the army when the holidays roll around. That’s not to say that there aren’t unspoken rules all the time, but the holidays hold a few special ones.

Times for calls and video chats fill up faster than Jack can shoot a bullet when December appears every year, leaving the majority of the people on base without a way to contact their loved ones on Christmas. But that’s when the unspoken rule comes in.

All of the younger people on base get first pick. In reality, the senior officers are supposed to get first choice, but nearly all of them step aside to let the kids go before them. For half of them, it’s their first Christmas away from home, let alone their first Christmas in a warzone. 

After the kids, the guys with families, particularly kids, always get to choose next. And then after that, and only after that, is it a free for all. And by then, there’s no chance to get a spot actually on Christmas. At least, Christmas time in America.

Even though he’d deny if anyone asked, Jack’s watching Mac like a hawk. He’s one of the kids, he should’ve already picked a time to call home, but he hasn’t. Hell, the kid hasn’t even said anything about it, which Jack thinks is pretty fucked up. He’s twenty. Mac’s practically still a kid in footie pajamas, waking up early on Christmas Day.

As the two of them are heading out to yet another IED, Jack decides that subtly won’t be worth it. “So kid, you gonna call home?”

Mac looks up. “What do you mean?”

“You know, for the holidays. The holiday cheer, all that fun stuff.”

Snorting, Mac looks back down at his hands. “Nah. Bozer’s going to be with his family, so, you know…”

Jack definitely does not know. “So what? You’re just not gonna call him?”

“I mean, I’m writing him a letter.”

“But it’s different, hearin’ voices, you know that.”

“‘Hearing voices’? Really, Jack? You need a psych eval?”

Rolling his eyes, Jack mutters, “Oh, har, har. Really though. Why aren’t you callin’ home?”

“I told you. Boze’s going to be with his family, and I don’t want to interrupt that. If there’s one thing that he’s taught me, it’s that the Christmas pastrami should never be interrupted.”

Now that throws Jack for a loop. “What the fuck is a Christmas Pastrami?”

Grinning, Mac replies, “The Bozer household has some weird traditions. What about you? Are you calling home?”

“Not on Christmas,” Jack admits. “But at some point in the next week I will.”

“Yeah, see?” Mac shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it if you’re doing the same thing.”

Part of Jack wants to scream at Mac that he’s just a kid, and kids should be able to celebrate the holidays, but he keeps his mouth shut. Calling out Mac’s age is a sure fire way to get him closed off. With enough time, Mac will open up by himself.

And, sure enough, not quite a minute later, Mac speaks up again. “Is it weird that I didn’t even notice?”

“Notice what?”

“The fact that it’s almost Christmas,” Mac replies. “I mean, usually I’d know because the Bozers would just invite me to everything they did. But now it feels like it… I dunno.”

“Time works differently in the ‘box. Holidays just don’t feel like holidays, do they?”

With a sigh, Mac agrees, “Yeah.”

The desert feels particularly empty today, ‘deserted,’ Jack would say, if Riley was in the vicinity and he wanted to make her cringe from his puns. It’s been a long time since he’s had a Christmas with the Davis girls. Longer than he remembers.

Hell, it’s been a long time since he’s had a Christmas with anyone other than his lasting trauma, a beer, and a gravestone. Part of Jack always knew that would be the case. The first time he shipped off, back when he was only eighteen, Jack already knew his life was going to change for the worse.

The worst part about all of this is that Jack knows it’s not the reason why the world feels off right now. No, the reason for that is because Jack’s pretty damn sure that it’s been years since the kid has had a real Christmas too.

When they reach the device, Mac practically hops out of the truck, fingers already itching for some wires. There’s no good place for a nest where his sightline includes the kid and his bomb, so Jack opts for just staying by him, eyes constantly watching. 

If Mac notices how close Jack is sticking by him, he doesn’t say anything. The kid just crouches down, already inspecting the IED with well practiced hands.

Clearing his throat, Jack asks, “Did I ever tell you about the time me ‘n my family spent Christmas day in the ER?”

With a huff of laughter, Mac pokes his head up to say, “No, but knowing you, I’m sure that it’s happened more than once.”

“Actually,” Jack starts, “This one wasn’t my fault. It was my uncle’s.”

“What happened?”

“On every other year, all the Daltons get together at the ranch in Texas, you know, the one I grew up on. The problem is, there were about a million kids.”

“Really, Jack? A million? Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little bit?”

Jack replies with a grin. “Oh, just you wait. When you see us all, you’ll realize that I’m not even joking.” He says the sentence without even thinking. It’s only after the fact that Jack wants to shake himself. ‘When’? Jack doesn’t even know where that came from. “Anyway, all the kids decided to take a little trip into the woods outside the property.”

While Mac folds… something… to put around the wires, he guesses, “And I’m sure that you were included in that?”

“Hell yeah I was! I was leadin’ it.”

“So it was  _ your  _ fault.”

After a pause, Jack admits, “Maybe. Depends on how you look at it. It wasn’t me specifically in the ER.”

“But if it was your idea,”

“Alright, you know what? Just listen. I don’t need this pinned on me two decades later.”

“I thought you said you were a kid?”

Oh, Jack doesn’t like where this is going. “Yeah? What about it?”

Slowing his hands, Mac looks up at Jack with a shit eating grin. “So shouldn’t that have been about two  _ centuries  _ ago, not decades?”

“Aw, c’mon kid, that’s low,” Jack huffs. He’d shake his head if he dared to take his eyes off of the surrounding area. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, We all wandered into the forest. About a dozen of us. All cousins, and my two sisters.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Literally nothing happened,” Jack shrugs. “We spent about an hour out there, and then came back, because my mama had promised hot chocolate.”

Mac scrunches his eyes, either at the IED or Jack’s story, before questioning, “So how does this have to do with the ER?”

“My uncle freaked out. He thought we were all gonna get lost, or eaten by coyotes, or both. Kidnapped, maybe. So apparently, he went out and ran after us. Tripped on a log, and bam! Both bones in the arm, broken at the seams.”

“This still sounds like your fault.”

“Wha- unbelievable, Mac. Unbelievable.”

“It was your idea to go out into the woods,” Mac points out.

Fine, Jack will give him that. “Yeah, but it was my uncle who went out and broke his arm.”

“Whatever. How’d you all end up at the ER, though?”

“We all went with him,” Jack answers, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There were like two dozen Daltons all crammed in the waiting room, crowding up the nurses’ space. Luckily they all knew the Daltons.”

Mac snorts. “You make frequent enough trips to the ER that the nurses know you?”

“Nah. Small town, everyone knows everyone. Even the distant relatives.”

Humming for a moment, Mac pulls out the scissors on his knife, before admitting, “I think that’s how Mission City was supposed to be like. The place where I grew up.”

It takes nearly all of Jack’s control to not jump for joy when the kid voluntarily says something about his childhood. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. It’s fuzzy, but I can remember casserole after casserole appearing on our doorstep after mom died.”

“That’s why I love small towns,” Jack replies, double checking that the movement he saw was normal. “Everyone cares about each other.”

There’s a hint of sadness when Mac agrees, “Yeah. Also, we’re good. Bomb’s safe,” Mac declares, standing up and shaking out his locked knees.

“Alright, let’s dip. I don’t want to be spending any extra time in this place. It’s givin’ me the heebie jeebies.”

“The ‘heebie jeebies’? Really, Jack?”

“What?” He questions with a grin. “I’m just callin’ it how it happens!”

Just like a teenager, Mac rolls his eyes and huffs. “Yeah, whatever. I worry about your vocabulary sometimes, Jack.”

“What about it?”

“The fact that it’s at an elementary reading level.”

Lightly punching Mac’s shoulder, Jack just smiles, “It’s part of my charm.”

*

When mail comes in the next day, Mac’s half breaking half fixing a pair of pliers, slowly turning it into a socket wrench hybrid. He has no idea if it’s even going to be functional, but it’s nice to have something to do with his hands. It’s either that or his poor, abused cuticles at any rate.

“MacGyver!” Jerking up, Mac smiles at the small brown package with his name on it. “Security scanned it three times, dude. I dunno what’s getting sent to you.”

Mac just laughs, “Thanks.”

In the corner of the bunks, a couple of the other sergeants are playing poker with Jack, using the cookies Sanchez’s wife sent as chips. The game isn’t going well for anyone, mostly because they keep ending up eating their buy ins. Not that Mac blames them for that. He knows that he wouldn’t be able to hold any self control over them either.

Eventually, Jack puts down his hand, face up, and declares, “Alright boys, I’m done. Gonna friggin’ burst if I eat anymore.”

“We know, Dalton,” Blevens grins back.

Much to Mac’s surprise, Jack ends up sitting down beside him on his bunk. Nodding to the package, Jack questions, “What do you got there?”

Lightly shaking the box, Mac replies, “If I were to guess? Like four packs of paper clips. The two-fifty ones.”

“The fuck? Who sends paper clips as a Christmas present?”

“Boze,” Mac grins, before using his knife to slice open the tape. Sure enough, alongside a rather lengthy letter, there are office-grade paper clips. Except there are actually five packs of them. At least he was right about them being the 250 sized packs. “One thousand, two hundred and fifty paper clips.” After announcing it, Mac opens one of the packs and grabs one.

Still looking confused, Jack asks, “‘You ask Santa for that? Seriously though, who gives paper clips as a present?”

Mac skims the note, fingers fishing through the bottom of the package to see if he’s missed anything. “It’s not like Bozer sends them to everyone. Just to me.”

“Why?”

Latching onto a few twisted clips, Mac holds them up. “This?” Bozer, bless his heart, managed to warp two paper clips, one into an ‘M’ and the other into a ‘C.’ Mac’s pretty sure that the third one is supposed to be an ‘A,’ but it doesn’t exactly look like much. Unless he was going for an amoeba. 

Taking the M from Mac’s fingers, Jack asks, “What are these?”

“Bozer’s attempt at writing my name in paper clips.”

“Somehow, I have even more questions.”

“It’s just a thing that I do,” Mac shrugs. “When I met Bozer, back in junior high, that’s when I first started getting really restless, you know? It used to drive my teachers and my dad crazy. I think I broke all of the zippers on my jacket.”

Jack snorts. “You? Breaking something? Why, I hardly believe it!”

Rolling his eyes, Mac shakes his head and continues, “Anyway, Bozer gave me a paper clip that he swiped from the teacher’s desk one day, and it helped. It helped a lot. Galvanized steel wires have a high yield strength. I can twist them around a lot before they break.”

“So he gave you a thousand paper clips to twist around?”

“Not just twist,” Mac shakes his head again, “I eventually started making designs. I didn’t even realize what I was doing at first.”

“How’d you realize, then?”

“My grandfather. At some point he helped me bend one at a particularly rough angle that I just couldn’t get right.”

Nodding, Jack quietly nods to the SAK on the bed and confirms, “Same grandpa who gave you that, huh?”

Tips of his lip curling up, Mac replies, “Yeah. Same one.” Using his fingernail as a bit of extra torque, Mac twists the ends around of his creation, glancing down at it for the first time. Just like always, Mac’s fingers seem to move before his brain sends any signals. When he’s happy with the product, he drops it in Jack’s lap. “Here.”

At first, Jack doesn’t even know what to do with it. He holds it up with his thumb and index finger, as if anything more would shatter it. Finally, after a few seconds of inspection, Jack barks out a laugh. “Real funny, kid.”

With a laugh of his own, Mac questions, “You like it?”

“This little mini bolt carrier? I fuckin’ love it. How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“This,” Jack holds up the small figurine. “I didn’t even see you make it.”

Shrugging, Mac answers, “It just sorta happens. Most of the time I don’t even notice what I’m making until the end.”

After a nod, Jack turns his attention back to the metal in his hand. “It looks damn good.”

“Thanks,” Mac smiles back. “I used to make them for Boze all the time. Christmas ornaments too. Well, they weren’t originally ornaments, but his parents ended up hanging them on the tree anyway.”

“They’re good parents.”

With a sad smile, Mac agrees, “Yeah. They’re the best. They practically raised me.”

Nodding, Jack debates his course of action. They’re not going to get sent out on a mission, and they’re in a good position right now. He could finally ask about Mac’s dad. He could actually do it. “You’re close with your grandpa, right?”

“I was,” Mac answers, after a beat. “He, uh, he died. Right before I went to MIT.”

Jack raises a hand in front of his face. “Hold up- full stop. You went to MIT?”

“Yeah,” Mac nods, not even realizing that it hasn’t come up until now. It’s weird, they’ve been seconds away from death, relying only on each other, but there’s so much about Mac that Jack doesn’t even know. “I- yeah. I never graduated, though.”

“Took a little ‘vacay’ here?”

With a breathy scoff, Mac replies, “Yeah. After my second year. I didn’t really have anyone to um, to- I dunno.”

“To tell you to  _ not  _ do this?”

“I guess. I probably would’ve gone anyway.”

“Were your parents military?”

Shaking his head, Mac says, “No. Neither of them. Neither was Harry, my grandfather. Why do you ask?”

“It’s one of the reasons why I went so early,” Jack answers. “My pops was. I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and I knew that we didn’t have enough money to send me  _ and  _ my sisters to college.”

“I basically had a full ride to MIT. And the money that wasn’t from scholarships my grandfather gave me. But I still left.” Mac looks up at Jack, making eye contact for the first time since the conversation started. “Does that make me selfish?”

“I think it’s the opposite. You left safety to go help people. Save lives. It’s about the least selfish thing you coulda done.”

Looking away, Mac sighs. It’s obvious that he certainly doesn’t agree. “Yeah. I’m uh,” Holding up a college ruled paper of his own, Mac awkwardly stands, “I’m gonna go find a stamp and send this to Boze.”

“Wait,”

“Huh?”

Holding out the paper clip bolt carrier, Jack says, “Here. Don’t forget this.”

With a small smile, Mac replies, “You can keep it.”

*

Jack’s just come back from another IED, terrorists apparently don’t care about the holiday season, when Wright nearly runs straight into him. “Dalton. We gotta talk, brother.”

“C’mon on, man,” Jack groans. “Just had a shit show of a day. Please tell me we don’t gotta talk about you know what.”

“It ain’t Voldemort, Dalton.”

“May as well be,” He mutters back, before Mac shows up, scaring the shit out of him. Jack swears that the kid must have some magical skill of not making any noise when he walks.

Looking between Wright and his overwatch, Mac asks, “Jack, what’s going on?”

“MacGyver, you should probably hear this.”

Hearing the sober tone of voice, Mac’s shoulders immediately tighten. “What happened? Is it about…?”

“About the reports? Yeah.”

“How about we talk somewhere a little bit more private, huh boys?” Jack asks, but it’s obvious that it’s not just a request. 

Halfway between a nod and a shake, Wright replies, “Sure. Let’s go. It’ll be quick.”

From the corner of his eye, Jack watches as Mac pulls out a paper clip from his pocket, fingers already bending it before it even makes it free from the fabric. Mac’s eyes are straight ahead, and Jack finally realizes what Mac meant when he said he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Alright man, you gonna tell us, or just give us some heart attacks?”

With a sigh, Wright quietly admits, “No promises that the actual information won’t give you a heart attack anyway.”

Already on edge, Mac interjects, “What happened?”

“You know how your medical report got sent out? And we thought that was pretty fuckin’ weird, because agencies don’t give a damn about low blood sugar?”

“Yeah. Not exactly easy to forget,” Jack replies.

“Well, the reports are gettin’ weirder.”

Mac’s breath catches in his chest. “How weird?”

Wright pauses for a second, before answering, “Personal weird.”

“Spit it out, man,” Jack mutters, index finger itching for a trigger.

“Someone knows that you got a package two days ago. Someone other than the obvious, the folks who check all the packages and all that.”

If Mac’s heart was beating fast before, it’s now at a jackrabbit’s pace. “What?”

On the other hand, maybe it’s good that Jack’s finger isn’t on a trigger, because he couldn’t guarantee how he’d react with a gun in his hand right now. “Why the fuck is a report about Mac getting a Christmas present even being made? Who’s writing these? Martinez? Someone even higher up?”

“All reports are made by the CO,” Wright begins, holding up a hand so Jack doesn’t immediately interrupt him. “But I know that Martinez didn’t write one about MacGyver getting a package for Christmas. The man has better things to be doing.”

“Are you able to see who wrote it?” Mac asks.

“Ordinarily? Yes. But this one? No. I can’t stop it from being sent out. Or even put it on a standstill. It’s like it gets instantly sent out.”

Giving a particularly harsh bend to the paper clip in his hand, Mac questions, “So this person knows about Boze, then? Does that mean he could be in danger?”

“We don’t even know if you’re in danger, MacGyver.”

Shaking his head, Jack mutters, “It’s not like we can afford to assume anything different. We don’t exactly have that luxury, Wright. Are you sure we don’t know where this is being sent?”

“Hundred percent,” Wright answers. “If I knew, you’d be the first to find out.”

Mac twists the metal hard enough to nearly break. “I’m going to go back to the bunks,” He declares, turning on his heel before either of the men have a chance to stop him.

The short walk back is anxiety filled, and by the time Mac makes it to the mattress he calls home, he feels even worse. Like an itch that can’t ever be scratched.

He could deal with someone after him, Mac knows he could.

But someone after Bozer? Even the thought makes him shudder. It’s not something he wants to ponder. The Bozers have gone through enough. The last thing they need is this.

Maybe if he just stops sending letters to him, then the reports won’t get sent out.

Unless Bozer keeps sending him things.

There’s no good answer to this, other than finding out the person who’s apparently keeping tabs on him. For some nefarious reason. Mac trusts Jack’s judgement, and if he doesn’t think it’s from an agency, then Mac is inclined to agree. If it’s not an agency, then it’s probably just a person.

Someone powerful enough to have a completely redacted address, even from a high ranked CIA agent like Sarah Adler. Someone who, at the moment, knows everything that Mac’s done since Jack joined him.

Unless they started earlier.

The only reason why Mac knows about it is from Jack’s old friend. If he was never assigned to Jack, would he have even figured this out? This person could’ve been keeping an eye on Mac since the day he joined the army, for all he knows.

There are too many unknowns, too many things that could go wrong.

“How’re you feeling?”

Mac looks up to Jack, and just shakes his head. He drops a paper clip on the mattress beside him, knowing that if he looks down he’ll see the design of a knife look back at him. “Just great, Jack. I mean, why wouldn’t I, knowing that there’s a stranger who knows everything about my life?”

“They don’t know everything.”

“They may as well!”

Shaking his head, Jack presses, “They know about the bombs you’ve disarmed. They know that you have me for an overwatch, and they know that about a month ago you had low blood sugar. But that’s all they know.” Barely giving himself time to breathe, Jack continues, “This person doesn’t know who you are, Mac. They don’t understand your brilliance or your humanity. No report in the world can show that.”

Putting his elbows on his thighs, Mac lets his hand fall into his palms. “I wish I knew who it was, you know? Even if I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Yeah, me too kid. We’ll figure it out, though.”

Mac just scoffs. “It’s a little too late for a Christmas miracle.”

“Says who?”

“The date?”

“As if time exists here,” Jack quips, grinning when he gets a snort out of the younger man. “Seriously though, we’ll figure this one out.”

Looking up, Mac asks, “How? You already asked your CIA friend, and she couldn’t help. Wright can’t do anything more. There’s no one else higher up we can find.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Mac.”

“What?”

“I have friends higher up. Actually, I wouldn’t go so far to call us ‘friends,’ but I do know people. People who owe me.”

Mac gives him a look. “And you’d cash in your favors for me?”

“Hell yeah I would.”

It looks like Mac’s about to argue with his overwatch, but a few seconds later, he just nods. “Thanks, Jack.”

With a smile, Jack nods, “It’s no problem, kid.”

“I mean it. Thank you.”

Jack’s chest grows tight, and not from the praise. It’s the fact that there’s a layer of surprise hidden underneath, as if the kid wasn’t expecting Jack to actually help him. Surprised that Jack didn’t retract his statement and call it all a joke.

The two sit in relative silence for a while as the other men slowly file into the bunks, all tired. The post-Christmas slum, that’s what Jack’s always called it in his head.

Everyone’s ridiculously happy for a day, right after they’ve talked with their loved ones, but then that day ends, and the knowledge that they’re still in the desert comes back full force. It happens every single year, without fail.

Elbowing the kid lightly, Jack does his best to pull him out of his thoughts. “So what’s this Christmas pastrami you mentioned?”

With quiet laughter, Mac looks up at him. “It’s one of the weirdest Bozer traditions. Some people have Christmas hams and stuff, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, the Bozers have always celebrated with pastrami. I don’t know the actual origins of it, but from what I understand, it started with one Christmas gone wrong. Somehow they ended up with nothing but pastrami.”

Making a face, Jack questions, “How do you end up with nothing but pastrami?”

“I dunno,” Mack shrugs. “But it somehow happened. And then since then it’s always been like that. They used to have me and my grandfather over for Christmas dinner. It smelled so,  _ so  _ good. I can’t even explain it.”

Jack understands. Sometimes it’s not just a smell, but instead something representing the entire memory. As much as he hates it, the smell of manure has always calmed him down for the same exact reason. “So who makes it?”

“It used to be Boze’s mom. But now he makes it. He’s a crazy good chef. The only problem is that the pastrami takes hours to cook. And I’m not allowed to change the oven anymore. Not after… never mind.”

“Oh, I’ve gotta hear this,” Jack grins, leaning back in Mac’s bunk, prepared to stay here for the next few hours.

*

“Jack, I need your boot.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out!”

Throwing up a hand, Jack counters, “I don’t need to hear you out! I’m not giving you my boots! I need ‘em to walk!”

Rolling his eyes, Mac says, “I just need a piece of your sole.”

“Oh, what’s next, my heart?”

“The sole of your shoe, Jack. Not your… body or whatever. Just a strip. It’s rubber. The only rubber we have around here,” He points out.

Although thoroughly unhappy about it, Jack holds out his foot towards Jack. “Fine. You’re gonna be the one explaining this to Martinez though, you hear me?”

Already pulling out his knife, Mac half heartedly confirms, “Mmhm. Okay, that’s all I need. See? You can’t even tell.”

Moving his weight between both of his legs, Jack sighs. “Easy for you to say. I can tell. Why couldn’t you have just used your own damn boots?”

“It was easier to ask you!”

“What do you mean, easier? Your own feet are closer to you than I am!”

Mumbling, Mac replies, “I’m not that flexible.”

Doing another sweep around the perimeter of the IED, Jack mumbles back, “Oh, that’s your excuse? It’s like you’re not even trying, Mac.”

“It’s true.”

“Uh huh. Next time it’s your shoe, you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mac replies, telling Jack that next time it will most definitely still be his shoe. His weight feels uneven now, and he’s going to have to get new boots. He just broke these ones in too.

After a few minutes pass, Mac lets out a frustrated growl.

“Everything good, kid?”

Without taking his eyes off of the device in front of him, Mac asks, “You know how a few weeks ago I came across an IED that was really well made? Like, really really well made?”

“Uh, yeah? What’s that got to do with this?”

Finally poking his head up, Mac admits, “This one’s just like it. It’s… complicated. More than complicated. I don’t get how it’s this fancy. I mean, it would’ve taken weeks, maybe months to make something like this.”

“Are you able to disarm it?”

“Yeah?”

“Not soundin’ that confident, kid.”

“I’ll be able to disarm it. I just… I dunno,” Shaking his head, Mac frowns back at the bomb, but doesn’t move his hands.

“Don’t know what?”

Mac sighs. “I have no idea. I just can’t seem to focus on this. It’s exactly what the other bomb was like. I know it’s from the same person. Someone who’s really, really talented.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jack points out, “Well, good thing I have a really, really talented bomb nerd, huh? C’mon, you got this.”

“Yeah.” After a minute, Mac sits back, sliding on his butt on the sand until he’s a few feet away from the IED. “I can’t focus.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Why does someone care about me this much?”

“Mac, what are you talkin’ about?”

“The reports,” Mac answers, looking up to Jack with a face of defeat. “Someone cares enough about me to want to know every single detail about my life in the army. I just- I don’t get why. Who gives a damn about me?”

Unlike his bomb nerd, Jack doesn’t let his guard down. He does, however, come a bit closer to him and humor his conversation. “Well, for one, I do.”

Mac shakes his head. “Not like this. They apparently cared about my blood sugar, Jack.”

“Yeah? So did I. Or did you forget that fun conversation in the infirmary, kid?” Shrugging, Jack continues, “I cared about the package you got, just like this mystery person.”

“But  _ why  _ do they care? I just- I don’t get it!” Trying to run a hand across his face, Mac curses when he ends up smacking his knuckles into his helmet. “I don’t get it.”

With a sad sigh, Jack tells him, “I don’t know what to tell you, Mac. You got some creepy stalker or something.”

“No, Mac shakes his head, “You don’t get it. People don’t care about me. They just don’t.”

Tightening his hands on his rifle, Jack can practically feel his blood begin to boil. The kid says it as a statement. An irrefutable statement. “Who told you that, kid?”

“I didn’t need to be told it,” Mac mutters, before clenching his jaw and moving back up toward the bomb. “I just need to focus on this.”

“You sure you should be disarming a bomb right now?”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t want you to blow us up because you’re worried about something else.”

Shaking his head, Mac denies, “It’s fine. I already feel better.” When Jack snorts, Mac looks up at him. “What?”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Knowing he won’t get anywhere if he argues with the kid, Jack continues his loop around the perimeter, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Luckily, despite the massive bomb, nothing seems to be amiss.

It takes Mac about an hour to finish up with the bomb, and by the end, he looks worse than when he started. Jack can’t even pinpoint what looks wrong with the kid, all he knows is that it’s something.

On the way to the next bomb, Mac starts up again, pulling a paper clip out of his side pocket. “I hate that someone cares about me now. I  _ hate  _ it.”

Jack keeps his mouth closed, letting the kid tell him as much as he wants to. As soon as he starts pressing, that’s when Mac will close himself off. Plus, Jack’s pretty sure that if he opens his mouth he’s going to say something that he regrets. Something loud, and probably scary, even if it’s not directed toward Mac, and freak the poor kid out.

“It’s not fair. And God- I know that I sound like a child, but it’s  _ not fucking fair. _ I spent so long wanting someone to care, and it finally happens from a fucking stalker.” Mac huffs loudly, uncharacteristically cursing and clenching his fists.

“We’re gonna figure this out, Mac. I promise you.” When Jack gets out of this damned sandbox, he’s finding whoever ruined Mac’s childhood, and he’s going to have a very serious talk with them. A talk that will end suspiciously like the one he had with Elwood.

Keeping his left hand on the wheel, Jack unclips his own canteen. “Here.”

Mac looks at him as if he turned into an alien. “What?”

“Drink some water. The heat isn’t doing you any favors.”

Unclipping his own canteen, Mac takes a few tentative sips, before nearly gulping the rest of it down.

“Not too fast. You’re gonna make yourself sick, kid.”

Although not without a glare, Mac nods, stopping himself from finishing the entire canteen in one swig. Granted, it probably didn’t help much, given that he ends up drinking it all on an empty stomach anyway.

Jack’s going to have to start keeping damn protein bars in his gear if this continues. Every time the kid gets stressed, he just forgets that he’s a human who has human needs. Eating, drinking, hell, Jack’s half convinced that he’d forget to breathe if his body didn’t automatically do it.

And Mac’s too wiry to lose any more weight.

Somewhere through the process, Mac lost the paper clip he was working on, and his fingers are now wrapping around themselves. Not for the first time, Jack’s half sure that he’s going to accidentally break them or something.

“Hey,” He starts, glancing over at the kid. “You got any more of those paper clips?”

Thrown for a loop, Mac blinks a few times before answering. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I want you to spell out my name.” When all he’s greeted with is silence, Jack questions, “What?”

“You’re serious?”

“Hell yeah. I’ve seen you do some complicated shit with those things, you can handle letters, can’t you?”

Mac just scoffs, obviously up for the challenge. “Of course I can.”

“Then prove it.”

“You’re insufferable, Jack,” Mac huffs, but still fishes out a few more paper clips from his pocket. 

Mutely, Jack wonders how many Mac has stored in there. It’s got to be at least a dozen. Maybe two. He has no idea how they don’t get tangled up.

Jack knows that he has to keep his head in the game, especially when Mac’s isn’t, but he’s finding it harder and harder to do so. Two months ago, Jack would’ve loved to finally get any information about Mac’s childhood. Now though, with every new clue Jack feels his heart sink lower and lower.

He knows that something went wrong, really, really wrong in Mac’s childhood.

Just like Riley.

The only difference is that Mac didn’t have someone like Diane. From what he understands, Mac had a grandpa who’s now dead, and a family that helped make his life a little less miserable.

But apparently not anyone who cared as much as a stranger does.

Risking a glance beside him, a bit of tension bleeds out of Jack’s shoulders. Rather than the stark white, stressed fingers that Jack saw a few minutes ago, Mac’s hands look relatively normal as they bend around a paper clip. And for the first time in hours, Mac’s mouth finally isn’t pulled down in distaste and anger.

He almost looks peaceful.

Jack smiles to himself. This Bozer guy is definitely onto something. He’s gonna have to start carrying around paper clips.

**Author's Note:**

> The summary that I could've used for this fic:  
> Jack: where are the adoption papers
> 
> I can promise you all that there is definitely going to be plenty of protective Jack coming soon! I've been having a bit of trouble sneaking in physical whump, just because for a lot of dramatic injuries that I want to do, they would warrant an honorable discharge, but I have an idea for the next fic that would include whump :D
> 
> And one last thing: I just want to give an extra thanks to everyone for your support! You all are the reason why I was inspired and motivated enough to write another fic in one day! I love you all <33
> 
> Also, I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


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